


yesterday and days before (sun is cold and rain is hard)

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [9]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12618988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Distantly, Nicole can hear flatware falling to the floor like metallic raindrops on a tin roof; she hears Waverly gasp; she hears George Michael hit a high note. But all she can see is Gus’s eyes, wide and round, and the way her knuckles go white around the red rag she’s holding. She takes one step towards Nicole, a palm flat against the counter to hold herself up.





	1. there's a calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback Friday: some CCR, some angst, and some promises.
> 
> This one takes place in the fall of 1985, the start of Nicole's freshman year of high school. She's 14 and Waverly is 13.
> 
> This is a two-sided cassette. Side B is coming at you next week.

**“Have You Ever Seen The Rain?” Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1970  
** _Someone told me long ago: there’s a calm before the storm. I know; It’s been comin’ for some time. When it’s over, so they say, it’ll rain a sunny day. I want to know, have you ever seen the rain, comin’ down on a sunny day?_

Nicole reaches for the orange juice at the same time as Waverly. Their fingers bump softly and Nicole pulls back like they’re burning, pressing her palm flat against the table.

Waverly frowns and her mouth opens slightly. “I-”

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Curtis says loudly, his voice drifting into the kitchen. 

The small radio in the kitchen goes to static for a moment before Van Halen’s “Jump” starts.

Nicole listens over the opening notes. Curtis’s boots thud in the hallway as he comes into the kitchen, a duffel bag over his shoulder. He drops it with a loud  _ thump _ and takes a half-filled glass of water off the counter by the sink, draining it in one gulp. “Got everything.”

“Except me,” Waverly grumbles behind her glass of orange juice, her eyes on the book next to her plate.

Curtis shakes his head. “You’re not missing school just to come with me.”

“I’m already way ahead of the rest of the kids in my class,” Waverly insists.

Nicole leans back in her seat, eyeing the bottle of orange juice near Waverly. She’s heard this argument between Waverly and Curtis a hundred times. Last night. Waverly had given Curtis a detailed, bulleted list explaining the hows and the whys of going to Ottawa with him. Wynonna had rolled her eyes and grabbed Nicole by the collar, dragging her up to her bedroom, just as Waverly got started on ‘ _ point two of twelve points _ .’

“And it’s going to stay that way, young lady,” Curtis says, his eyes softening to take the sting out of his words. “I’m only going to meet with my vendor. I’ll be back in three days.”

“Promise?” Waverly asks.

“He better,” Wynonna cuts in. She shoves a piece of pancake in her mouth. “You said-”

“Chew,” Gus sharply, pointing her fork at Wynonna.

Wynonna finishes chewing noisily. “You said you’d be at my piano recital.”

Curtis peers at the 1985 Elvis Presley calendar on the refrigerator, running his finger along the boxes until his lands on the red-circled ‘PIANO’ Wynonna had written down. He taps it thoughtfully. “Well. I’ll be back that morning, so I’ll be there.”

Wynonna narrows her eyes at him. “Swear it.”

Curtis nods, his fingers pressed over his heart. “On my life.” He smiles softly and reaches out, ruffling Wynonna’s hair gently. “I’ll never miss a single one. Haven’t yet, have I?”

Wynonna’s glare softens. “Well. No.”

Curtis nods again. “Don’t plan on breaking that winning streak, either.”

Wynonna stares at him for another moment before the lines on her forehead fade. “Okay.” She looks down at her plate and smiles.

Nicole lets out of soft sigh of relief and reaches for the orange juice, pouring a glass for herself. She yawns and tries to hide it behind her hand, but Gus catches her and shakes her head.

“The next time you two have a sleepover,” Gus starts. “You’re going to actually  _ sleep _ , instead of listening to those tapes all night.”

Curtis’s eyes sparkle. “What were you listening to?”

Wynonna grins widely. “We-”

“Curtis,” Gus snaps.

Curtis straightens up, squaring his shoulders. “Right. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Girls, sleepovers are fun and you can keep havin’ them, but only if you actually sleep.” He glances at Gus. “How was that?”

Gus’s eyes soften and she shakes her head. “Curtis…” she warns.

Curtis’s smile stretches across his face. “Come on, woman,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Come see me off.”

Gus sighs, but Nicole can see a small smile on her face when she ducks her head and dips under Curtis’s arm. “Let me put together some sandwiches for the road.”

Curtis watches Gus move around the kitchen and Nicole watches Curtis. She props her chin up on her elbow, sighing. Curtis hums along to the radio, tapping the beat out on his thighs. Gus looks back over her shoulder as she spreads peanut butter onto a slice of bread and gives Curtis a secret smile. Curtis grins back. 

Nicole’s eyes dart to the left, and Waverly is frowning at her. Nicole’s elbow slides off the table sharply and she nearly knocks over her orange juice. Her shirt sleeve lands in her plate, in a pile of syrup. She hisses and wipes at the spot with a napkin. 

Gus drops a brown paper bag in front of Curtis and curls her finger at Nicole. “Take it off, girl. That’s just making it worse.”

Nicole feels her face flush, but Gus crosses her arms over her chest and Nicole peels off her yellow long-sleeve. She quickly adjusts her white undershirt, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It’s Sunday,” Curtis says. “What’re you girls doing this weekend?” He looks at Waverly.

“Cheer practice,” Waverly says, thumbing through her book. She looks up. “And Chrissy Nedley wants me to sleepover.”

“It’s a Sunday,” Gus repeats. “So, no.”

Waverly’s shoulders drop. “But we’ll go to sleep. You let  _ Nicole _ sleep over all the time. Even on school nights.”

Nicole looks down at her plate. She pushes a piece of pancake around it, through her syrup pile and to a clean spot on the other side of her leftover eggs.

“Waverly,” Curtis says, his voice firm.

It makes it worse, Curtis scolding Waverly.

She’s not wrong, though. Nicole knows she’s over all the time. Sometimes she comes over on a Friday and doesn’t go home until Monday night. She thought Waverly understood, though, why she can’t be there. It’s still too empty - her dad has been gone for forever now and Nathan is always at practice and her mom is always  working. At the McCready house, Curtis is always singing and making Gus laugh, and Waverly is always smiling, and Wynonna is her best friend. 

Waverly sighs. “Sorry,” she mumbles. She raises her voice. “I just really want to sleep over. Ms. Gwen at the library is running a contest, and if we solve ‘Hidden Pictures’ and ‘What’s Wrong?’ before anyone else, we get a free coin for Shorty’s.”

Curtis looks at Gus and shrugs one shoulder. 

“We  _ have _ to beat Tucker Gardner,” Waverly finishes, her eyes dark.

Curtis shrugs again. Gus sighs. “Fine.”

Waverly grins widely and jumps up from the table, kissing Curtis and then Gus on the cheek. “You guys are are  _ so _ rad.”

Curtis shakes his head fondly as Waverly doubles back into the kitchen to grab her book. He grabs her around the waist and she laughs sweetly. 

“Listen, darlin’. Promise me you’ll help out at The Patch.” He spares a glance at Gus. “I’m thinking it’s high time we made you an official waitress. So what do you say? Think you can do it?”

“I can do it,” Waverly breathes out, her eyes wide and promising. 

Gus snorts. Nicole hides a smile behind her hand. Wynonna rolls her eyes and picks a piece of bacon off Nicole’s plate.

Curtis leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s an apron up in your room. Gus stitched your name on the inside.”

Waverly squeals and jumps up and down, her hair in her face and her arms flying. “You’re the  _ tits! _ ” She stops jumping and claps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Curtis laughs so loudly Nicole winces at the noise. He throws his head back and laughs until there are tears in the corner of his eyes. Gus is glaring at Wynonna, one hand on her hip.

“What?” Wynonna asks around a mouthful of pancake. “I didn’t teach her that.”

“Me either,” Nicole adds, afraid that Gus will glare at her next.

Curtis wipes at his eyes and palms Gus’s hip. “Oh, it’s nothing to get too worked up about.” He squeezes her hip and her glare softens. “Go, baby girl. Go check out your apron.”

Waverly throws her arms around him this time, then presses a second kiss to Gus’s cheek before running past Nicole, the ends of her hair tickling against Nicole’s bare arms. 

Gus shakes her head. “She’s never going to find it up there.” She follows Waverly out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Curtis shuffles in his chair to face Wynonna. “And you. I need you to be  _ nice _ .”

Wynonna opens her mouth to argue, but Curtis lifts his hand to stop her. “I know you taught your sister that word,” he says kindly. Wynonna’s cheeks flush. “But while I’m not here to get you out of things, you need to be nice.”

Wynonna huffs. 

“Be nice to your sister. And be nice to your piano teacher. And be nice to your school teachers. Quit giving them so much lip all the time.” He nods towards the staircase. “And be nice to your aunt, would you? She’s going to need your help around here.”

Wynonna shrugs. “I can try,” she says.”But I'm not making any promises.”

Curtis tips his head to one side. “All you ever have to do is try, Wynonna. Trying is the hardest part.”

“You're coming to my piano recital?” Wynonna asks again.  There’s something in her voice that Nicole can't quite put a finger on.

Curtis smiles widely. “I wouldn't miss it for anything.”

Wynonna nods, satisfied, and goes back to finish her pancakes.

Curtis stands up and rolls his shoulder back, stretching it out. He moves around the table, stopping behind Nicole’s chair. “My last girl,” he sighs.

“Nicole isn’t one of your girls,” Wynonna points out, her eyes narrowed in confusion. Her eyes widen. “I mean, she’s here all the time, but she isn't-”

Curtis drops a heavy hand to Nicole’s shoulder and squeezes softly. “Sure she is. Right, Nicole?”

Nicole melts under the touch for a moment before she shrugs, trying to act like there isn’t a lump in her throat. “Right, Curtis.”

He squeezes her shoulder one last time and then tugs on the end of her hair. “So. You take care of my other girls, you hear me?”

Nicole tips her head all the way back, grinning at him. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m counting on you,” he continues.

Nicole twists in her seat so she can look at him.

Curtis presses his fingers against his chest again, over his heart. “Keep them on track.”

She nods solemnly. “I promise.”

Gus comes back into the kitchen and leans against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

Curtis smiles at her and leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her eyes slip closed for a moment. Then he’s pulling back and straightening up and hooking his fingers into Gus’s belt loops. “I’ve got to get going if I want to avoid traffic on Highway 17.” He grabs his duffel and winks at Nicole and Wynonna before heading towards the front door.

Nicole picks up her plate and scrapes the rest of the syrup into the trashcan, putting her empty plate in the sink. She grabs Waverly’s plate and does the same before she slips down the hallway towards the front door. She presses her nose against the screen and watches Curtis toss his duffel into the bed of his red 1975 Ford F-150. He leans back against the frame and pulls Gus in.

“They’re so  _ romantic _ ,” Waverly breathes out.

Nicole turns her head. Waverly is pressed against the screen just like her, her mouth slightly open. Nicole looks back just as Curtis kisses Gus. She feels the back of her neck get hot. 

“Yeah, they are,” she says dumbly.

Curtis climbs into the truck and turns the engine over. Gus steps back off the paved driveway and onto the lawn, sliding her hands into her jean pockets. The stereo in the truck rumbles to life, and Nicole leans in closer, picking up the end of a Fleetwood Mac song.

_ “Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice. Oh, oh.” _

The truck backs down the driveway, and Curtis hangs out the window as he shifts it into drive, waving an arm wildly. 

_ “I still see your bright eyes, bright eyes. And it all comes down to you.” _

 

-

“Nicole, honey,” Gus yells from behind the counter. She puts another glass up, already cleaning the next one with her other hand.

Nicole turns the power off on the neon sign in the window and hangs the sign she made on the door. “Yeah?”

_ Piano recital _ , it says.  _ Open tomorrow _ .

“Get that phone, would ya?” Gus says, nodding in the direction of the phone on the wall near the register. “And tell whoever is calling that we’re closed. Be quick about it. We’re going to be late.”

Nicole nods sharply and jogs towards the phone. Her jean jacket is still stiff, beginning of the school year-new, but when Waverly comes flying out of the kitchen door, Nicole still manages to dip to the right and spin around her.

“Hey!” Waverly shouts, barely holding onto the silverware tray in her hands.

Nicole grabs for the phone and turns to stick her tongue out at Waverly before speaking. “We’re closed.”

Someone on the other end of the clears their throat. “I’m sorry. I’m looking for Augusta McCready?”

Nicole frowns and pulls the phone away from her ear. “Gus, is your name  _ Augusta _ ?”

Gus rolls her eyes. She points a clean glass at Nicole. “Tell whoever it is that it’ll have to wait. And the electric bill went in the mail yesterday.”

Nicole nods and takes a deep breath. “She already paid the lights,” she recites.

“I’m sorry, I’m-” The person on the other goes quiet and swears. “ _ Shit _ . I’ve never done this before,” he says low enough that Nicole can barely hear it. He clears his throat again. “My name is Constable Hank Sullivan. I’m calling about Curtis McCready. He had-had a… He… Is Augusta McCready there?”

“Gus,” Nicole breathes out. “Her… Her name is Gus.”

His voice is softer. “I’m sorry. Is  _ Gus _ McCready there?”

Nicole pulls the phone away from her ear. She looks up at Waverly, dancing along to “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” and setting tables for the next morning; at Gus nodding absently to the beat and stacking glasses behind the bar.

“Gus,” she breathes again. Her arm lifts, but she feels like it’s not attached to her body. It hangs out in front of her, the phone cord stretching. “Gus,” she says a little louder, her voice breaking. “They said… They…”

Gus looks up, a rag in one hand and a glass in the other. “Nicole? What is it?”

“It’s… It’s  _ Curtis _ .”

The glass slips from Gus’s hand and shatters into pieces as soon as it hits the tile beneath her feet. 

Distantly, Nicole can hear flatware falling to the floor like metallic raindrops on a tin roof; she hears Waverly gasp; she hears George Michael hit a high note. But all she can see is Gus’s eyes, wide and round, and the way her knuckles go white around the red rag she’s holding. She takes one step towards Nicole, a palm flat against the counter to hold herself up.

“Nicole,” she whispers.

Nicole can hear Constable Sullivan calling  _ ‘hello’ _ into the receiver, his voice so far away. Gus takes another staggering step towards her. Nicole stretches her arm out further, wishing she could drop the phone and it would shatter into a thousand pieces like the glass crunching under Gus’s boots. Her shoulder burns and she can feel it threatening to pop, but she keeps stretching.

If she can keep Trooper Sullivan’s voice out of her ear, maybe she can ignore what he said, what he’s going to tell Gus.

“Nicole,” Gus says again. “Who is it?”

Nicole swallows heavily, her throat dry. “It’s a Constable. He, uh.” She shakes her head. “He wants to talk to you.”

Gus takes three quick steps, glass scattering out from under her boots. Her hand covers Nicole’s on the phone. When she brings it to her ear, Nicole goes with her, standing close enough that she can see Gus’s pupils, wide and scared. She can hear Constable Sullivan’s voice clearer, closer.

“Gus McCready?” he asks.

“That’s-” Gus stops and clears her throat. “That’s me.”

Constable Sullivan sighs. “Ma’am. I’m calling in regards to your husband, Curtis McCready.”

Nicole doesn’t hear all of what he says. She hears  _ heart attack _ and  _ Highway 17 _ and  _ he pulled over _ . She thinks she hears  _ a few hours _ .

She knows she hears  _ dead on arrival _ .

She doesn’t hear all of what Constable Sullivan says, but she feels Gus’s leg give out and grips her tight around the waist, holding her up. She hears Waverly shout out something and then pull the plug on the jukebox, George Michael cutting out on a warped note. She feels small, familiar hands wrap around her elbow, squeezing almost painfully as Waverly presses in close.

The phone drops from Gus’s hand easily, clattering noisily against the tile. 

“Curtis,” she whispers. 

Waverly’s fingernails dig into the denim of Nicole’s jacket. “Is he going to be late?” she asks, her voice high and confused.

Gus shakes her head slowly at first, then faster and faster until Nicole can’t tell if the speed or the tears on her face are twisting the pitch of her voice. “He’s  _ dead _ ,” she chokes out.

Nicole stands in the middle of The Patch, holding up Gus and Waverly, and wishing she could go crashing down with them. 

 

-

Nicole wakes up the next morning, squished between Wynonna and Waverly on Wynonna’s twin-sized bed. Her face feels puffy and her eyes feel raw. Her mouth is sleep-dry and her lips stick together. She wets them clumsily and tries to roll her shoulder, but it’s stuck under an arm that she thinks belongs to Waverly. She stretches her leg instead, sliding it out from under Wynonna’s hip. She twists slowly until she’s flat on her back, her shoulders pulled in tight and her spine pressed back uncomfortably against the comforter.

She had held Waverly tightly last night, letting Wynonna press in against her back while Waverly cried and Wynonna tried not to. When Waverly had finally fallen asleep, her eyes red-rimmed and her fingers twisted in Nicole’s t-shirt, Wynonna had let loose a single sob before biting down on her pillow and pretending to be asleep. 

It wasn’t until late, when Nicole was sure they were both asleep, that she let herself cry. 

She had bit down on her bottom lip and let the tears slide down over her nose and across her cheeks and soak the pillow beneath her head. Each breath felt like it was going to dislodge Waverly or send Wynonna off the other side, so she had taken short, shallow breaths until she felt dizzy.

Her arm tingles where she can still feel Gus’s weight. There’s a bruise in the crease of her elbow where Waverly had dug her fingernails in at The Patch. Her cheekbone aches where Wynonna had struck her, furious at her for sitting in the audience at the recital and waiting until after Wynonna’s piece to tell her why there were two empty seats between Nicole and Waverly, their hands laced tightly and stretched across them. 

Nicole stays there, between them, until the sun starts to shine through the curtains across the windows. She sits up slowly, holding her breath as she inches down the bed until her feet touch the carpet. She sits there for a minute, letting the room come into focus. She rubs a hand across her face and winces; Wynonna slapped her hard enough to leave a bruise. She stretches her arm out and hisses softly at the way her muscles pull. 

Waverly whimpers in her sleep and rolls, her hands pulling at the comforter until she finds Wynonna’s arm. Nicole watches Waverly’s frown settle as she curls around Wynonna.

She stands and pulls at her jeans, twisted uncomfortably around her waist. She smoothes out her shirt. Her hair is standing in every different direction, so she picks a baseball cap off of Wynonna’s dresser, one that looks like it might belong to Doc, and puts it on, turning it so the bill is facing backwards.

For a minute, she looks at Waverly and Wynonna, and tries to pretend that last night never happened; that she didn’t pick up the phone; that Gus didn’t break down in the middle of The Patch; that she didn’t listen to Wynonna play something called “Prelude in B Minor” and feel Waverly’s hand tighten around her fingers.

The house is too quiet. There’s no radio on in the kitchen. She can’t hear the sizzle of a frying pan or Curtis rummaging around in the refrigerator. Nicole pauses on the bottom of the stairs. The air feels stale. It reminds her of the end of winter, after all the doors and windows have been closed for months. 

_ Like a museum _ , she thinks.  _ Like the time Curtis took us to the museum in the city and Waverly made us look at all the old things before we could go see the turtles at the aquarium _ . 

Curtis’s things are everywhere. There’s a pair of glasses on the front table, by the door. His nice shoes are on the mat. The coat rack is heavy with Curtis’s winter coats. There’s a pile of books on the small end table in the living room, next to the TV tray with the crooked leg.

Nicole pauses at the entry to the living room, her eyes sweeping across the room. She misses Gus the first time she looks, but then she sees her: curled up on Curtis’s armchair, the crocheted blanket Waverly made for Curtis years ago wrapped tight around her body. Nicole’s hand shakes and she lifts it to her mouth, biting at the skin around her thumb. Her teeth scrape against her nail and the feels it in her jaw. The momentary shudder masks the ache in her chest.

She touches Gus’s shoulder gently, the very tips of her fingers against the shirt she’s wearing that looks like the one Curtis would wear on Sunday mornings, when he was going to work on his truck.

_ Would _ , Nicole thinks.  _ Was _ . 

She inhales sharply, pressing a fist to the center of her chest.  _ Curtis is gone _ .

“Nicole?” Gus asks, sitting up. Her voice is heavy with sleep. 

Nicole forces her hand into her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Gus shakes her head slowly. “No. It’s okay.” Her eyes stray to the clock on the wall, above the couch. “ _ Shit _ . I need to get up anyway.”

“Okay,” Nicole says quietly.

“Can you stay with them today? I shouldn’t…” Gus sighs. “I shouldn’t leave them alone. But I need-”

Nicole puts up a hand. “It’s okay, Gus. I can stay.”

“I need to go get  _ him _ ,” Gus continues anyway. “And-and his truck.” She rubs a hand down over her face. “Shorty is going to drive down there and we’ll be back around-”

“I can stay,” Nicole says firmly. 

Gus stops speaking and looks up, her eyes unfocused for a moment before they settle on Nicole. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.” She looks past Nicole at the clock again. “I need to meet that Constable, in Ottawa, at noon. I’ll have to leave soon.” She doesn’t make a move to stand.

Nicole bites at her thumb again. “I’ll make you coffee,” she says. She nods sharply. “Yeah. Coffee. Coming right up.”

She tiptoes into the kitchen, past Gus sitting in the chair, staring blankly into space. Nicole stops in front of the telephone. She stares at it for a long moment, wondering what will happen if she picks it up.

She holds the receiver to her ear but all she can hear is the dial tone.

Her mom picks up on the second ring and Nicole feels something loosen in her chest. 

“H-hi, Mom,” she breathes out.

“Oh, baby.”

“I, uh. I spent the night at the McCreadys’ and I-”

“I know,” her mom says kindly. “Mrs. McCready called me last night. How is she?”

Nicole leans to the left, looking back into the living room. Gus’s face is twisted, the same look Nicole saw earlier on Waverly’s face. “She’s…”

“I’m sure,” her mom interrupts. “And the girls? I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

Nicole tugs at the collar of her shirt. “They’re upset.”

“Of course,” her mom says softly. 

Nicole swallows heavily, a lump building in her throat. “Mom, can… Can I stay here today? Gus, I mean, Mrs. McCready has to go down to Ottawa and meet with the Constables and get Cu-his truck.” 

She can’t make her mouth form around Curtis’s name.

“Of course,” her mom repeats. “I’ll call the school. Does Mrs. McCready like Black Forest Pie? I think I have the things to make that. I can bring it around later, okay? And drive you home afterwards, so you don’t have to worry about riding your bike.”

Nicole thinks of her bike for the first time, still chained to the rack outside of The Patch. The bike fades quickly from her mind, her mom’s words catching up to her brain. She pauses for a moment; she doesn’t want to leave Wynonna or Waverly. Not now.

“Sure,” she says softly. She can talk to her mom later, convince her she needs to stay. 

For Wynonna. 

For Waverly. 

For Gus. 

_ For Curtis _ .

The line clicks and Nicole holds the phone to her ear, listening to the silence that fades quickly into a steady  _ beep, beep, beep _ . She stands there so long that the  _ beep, beep, beep _ burns out into a long  _ beeeeeep _ and then she slams the phone down into the receiver. 

She stands in front of the coffee maker for a minute. It’s the same model her mom has at home and she knows how to use it, but for a minute, she can’t make herself remember. She closes her eyes and tries to think back to sitting at the kitchen table, watching Curtis make coffee. 

She can hear Curtis singing an off-key version of “Desperado” while he pulls the filters out of the cupboard above the coffee maker. She can see him drumming his fingers against the counter with one hand while the other roots blindly through the freezer for the can of Eight O’ Clock coffee grounds. She can hear his feet slide across the floor while he croons a high note in Gus’s face, then bops Waverly on the nose. She can see him hold out his coffee scoop like a microphone, towards Wynonna until she gives in and sings a few lines. She can hear him call out “ _ Nicole!” _ as he tosses her the scoop.

She opens her eyes. The kitchen is quiet, the radio knob in the ‘off’ position. There’s no one there but her and the quiet click of the minute hand on the rooster clock above the stove.

Nicole shakes her head and opens the cupboard, peeling a filter off the pile. She opens the top of the machine and pulls out the old filter, dumping the grounds into the trashcan. She sets it up for a new pot: filling the carafe the whole way and them dumping it into the well; filling the filter with freezer-cold grounds; flipping the on-switch and watching it turn to red. The machine percolates quietly for a moment before the coffee starts filling the pot steadily.

Moisture hisses under the pot, right on the hot plate. At first, it masks the sound of Gus moving around in the living room, but then she’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Her eyes are red and puffy. She twists her wedding ring around on her finger.

“Thanks, kiddo,” she rasps.

Nicole nods silently, turning back to the coffee pot. They stand there, in the uncomfortable silence of the kitchen, until the coffee pot is full. Nicole rifles through the cupboard again, searching for a mug. The first one she pulls down, with a giant tomato on it, she puts back. She picks a simple plaid-patterned mug instead and fills it to the top. Her hands shake when she hands it to Gus, some coffee spilling over the side and burning a small line down her hand. 

Gus takes it absently, not flinching when coffee spills on her. She sips it off the top and sighs. “Shorty is outside. You’ll make sure they eat?”

“Of course,” Nicole promises, her words more sure than she feels. Her arm lifts, her hand reaching for Gus, but she drops it quickly, picking at the end of her shirt.

Gus steps forward, lifting up on her toes and pressing her lips to Nicole’s forehead briefly. “He loved you,” she murmurs. “He loved that you would look out for them.”

Nicole stands, gripping the counter, until she hears the sound of car turning on, backing down the driveway, and roaring off down the road. She doesn’t hear Fleetwood Mac’s “Gypsy” or Curtis yelling “goodbye.” She reaches up blindly into the cupboard and pulls down a mug, her finger bumping against the tomato mug. She fills it halfway with coffee and swallows it in one gulp, her mouth puckering at the bitter taste.

“Is there coffee?” Wynonna rasps from the doorway.

Nicole nods and refills her mug, handing it to Wynonna.

Wynonna takes it as Waverly slips into the kitchen behind her.

“Where’s Gus?” she asks, her voice as small and as hoarse as Wynonna’s.

Nicole pulls out another mug and fills it halfway, adding milk to top it off. She sets it down on the table and brushes her hand across Waverly’s shoulder as she sits down.

“She went to Ottawa,” Nicole says, surprised by the strength in her voice. She straightens her shoulders a little. “She’ll be back tonight.”

Wynonna slumps into her usual seat, her hair falling in a curtain around her face as she presses her forehead to the table.

Nicole looks at the two of them; at the curve of Wynonna’s shoulders; at the dark circles under Waverly’s eyes.

She wonders what Curtis would do.

_ Keep them on track _ , he had said. And Nicole had promised.

So she pours Wynonna a fresh cup of coffee, starts a frying pan for eggs, and braids Waverly’s hair. She commands them into the shower, one at a time, while the other watches reruns of  _ The Beachcombers _ . She takes out board games and new books Waverly has been meaning to read and the  _ Rolling Stone _ magazine she and Wynonna were saving for Saturday.

She tries to take care of them the way Curtis would have wanted; the way he would have done.

She just can’t get herself to turn on the radio.

 

-

Gus slams the screen door hard enough that Nicole jumps, bumping into Waverly. Waverly wobbles on the bottom step and Nicole reaches out quickly, grabbing her and steadying her.

“I swear to  _ God _ ,” Gus hisses through clenched teeth. “That if that girl misses her Uncle’s funeral, I will kill her myself.”

Waverly’s fingers clutch at Nicole’s elbow.

It’s been a long few days. Nicole had called her mom back that first day, when Gus had finally pulled Curtis’s Ford into the driveway and parked it in the garage. Waverly was curled up in Curtis’s armchair and Wynonna was sitting on the floor, Waverly’s hand in her hair. Gus climbed the front steps wearily and Nicole was there, opening the door for her and taking the small bag of things - Curtis’s wallet and his keys and the AC/DC tape he had borrowed from Wynonna - and leading her to the couch. She poured Gus what was left of the coffee and added a shot of whisky, from the bottle she knew they kept behind the breadbox. 

Gus fell asleep with Waverly in her lap, holding Wynonna’s hand.

Nicole had called her mom and told her she couldn’t come home yet; Mrs. McCready needed some help around the house and Wynonna needed her and Waverly needed her and  _ please, mom. Curtis made me promise _ .

Her mom had said yes, eventually, but only after Gus got on the phone and told her how great of a help Nicole was. 

She had spent every night there since, running her fingers through Waverly’s hair to put her to sleep; reading Wynonna articles from old  _ Rolling Stone _ magazines with a flashlight; sneaking down the stairs and taking off Gus’s shoes and wrapping her in a blanket. They huddled together each day, sometimes going hours without saying anything to each other. They played Clue until Wynonna got upset and threw the rope and the revolver into the trash. Waverly read them  _ Ramona Forever _ until Wynonna got mad at the world changing around Ramona too quickly and threw that in the trash, too.

They didn’t turn on the radio until last night. 

Gus’s knife scratched against her plate, a tear in the silence, and Nicole had winced.

“This goddamn silence,” Gus growled. Her chair scraped hard against the floor when she pushed it back. She beat her fist against the radio once, then flipped the switch on.

“- _ said the cards would never do you wrong _ ,” Bob Seger sang.  “ _ The trick, you said, was never play the game too long. A gambler’s share, the _ -”

Gus flipped the switch again and shut the radio off.

Nicole grabbed Steely Dan’s “Pretzel Logic” off of Curtis’s bookshelf and put that in instead.

Waverly had cried and cried. She still cried, tears building in the corners of her eyes every time her fingers brushed against Curtis’s flannel, draped over his desk chair. She cried when they went back to The Patch and she swept the broken glass off the floor. She cried when Fleetwood Mac came on and when Squeeze was playing and when someone started playing The Eagles “Peaceful Easy Feeling” on the jukebox.

Wynonna had started to fade away. She still slept pressed against Nicole, but she didn’t talk late into the night like Waverly did. She laid in bed and she breathed and breathed and took up all of the space in Nicole’s chest. She spoke in growls and grunts and clenched her fists tightly every time she looked like she wanted to say something. 

Nicole had done her best. She had done what she knew Curtis would want her to. 

She held Waverly while she cried. She rocked her back and forth. She combed out her hair and let her play every Donna Summer tape she owned. She never yelled when Wynonna ripped a page out of  _ Rolling Stone.  _ She let Wynonna shout at reruns of  _ The Match Game _ . She respooled every Donna Summer tape Wynonna took apart. 

_ Doing her best _ doesn’t prepare her for now: Gus in a black dress, her face red, and steam coming out of her ears.

Nicole pulls her arm out of Waverly’s hold, trying to smooth out the wrinkles it leaves behind. She had spent all morning ironing everyone’s clothes. Wynonna’s, too -  a black dress that Wynonna had put on without a fuss. 

“She’s gone?” Nicole asks.

Gus’s eyes snap to her. They soften just slightly. “She told me she needed the bathroom. But the damn window is open and she isn’t in there.”

“Gus,” Waverly says softly. “Maybe she-”

“Better think twice before missing this,” Gus finishes. The keys in her hand, the ones that go to her ‘79 Ford Fairmont station wagon, jingle loudly. “She’s supposed to be playing the damn piano.”

Nicole sticks her thumb into her mouth and bites at the skin. A hangnail catches and pulls. She barely feels it.

“She’s angry,” Waverly whispers.

Nicole isn’t sure if Waverly means  _ Wynonna _ or  _ Gus _ .

Gus shakes her head. “If she misses this, I swear-”

“She won’t,” Nicole interrupts. She straightens up, just like she remembers Curtis doing. “I’ll find her.”

Gus’s eyes narrow. “You know where she is?”

Nicole tries to think. If Wynonna’s not in the house, there’s really only one other place she would go. She nods confidently. “I’ll find her,” she promises.

Gus stares at her for another minute. “Service starts in an hour.”

Nicole climbs back up the stairs and grabs Wynonna’s bike. It’s heavier than she’s used to, and it doesn’t have a basket or a radio on the front, but she can ride it and that’s all that matters. She sets it down on the sidewalk and tucks her hair behind her ears.

“I’ll get her there.”

Gus sighs and closes the front door. The screen door is quiet this time. She stands on the steps, her hand on Waverly’s shoulder.

Nicole looks at Gus, then at Waverly. She nods sharply. “I’ll find her.” She mounts the bike and pushes off, coasting down the sidewalk and onto the road. She doesn’t look back.

If Wynonna isn’t in the house, she’s probably at their hideout, in the woods. They haven’t been there in years - Nicole hasn’t been since that day she helped Waverly with her cheerleading tryouts. But Wynonna is hurt and mad, and Nicole knows there has been bruises in her palms from her fingernails digging into them all week and the only place she would go is their hideout. 

She skids to a stop on the trail and leaves the bike leaning against a tree. Dead leaves crunch under her feet, under the heel of the shoes she borrowed from the back of Nathan’s closet. They’re a little too big and she wore extra thick socks to make sure she doesn’t walk out of them. She comes to the clearing just as a black heeled-boot drops to the ground at the base of the big tree. Nicole tips her head to the side; she can see one bare foot and then two, the second boot hitting the same spot the first one did.

“Wynonna,” she says quietly. “I know you’re up there.”

Wynonna snorts. “I’m not exactly hiding.”

Nicole steps in closer, peering up. She sees Wynonna’s bare leg and then the black dress that blends into her hair, long and loose. Waverly had done it.

“Gus is pissed.”

“Gus can take a chill pill.”

Nicole winces. “She’s worried,” she corrects.

Wynonna snorts. “Worried I’ll fuck things up, you mean.”

Nicole’s chest caves a little. “That’s not true.”

Wynonna swings her legs back and forth. “I bet she said she was furious with me for sneaking out of the bathroom.”

“Well…” Nicole hesitates a second too long.

“Right,” Wynonna says. “Ruined I’ll mess up something. I always do.”

Nicole thinks of Curtis, of the way he looked at Wynonna and made her promise to  _ be nice _ . She puts her hands on her hips, presses her knuckles into the black belt she also took from Nathan so that her dress pants didn’t fall down, and gives Wynonna her best grown-up glare. 

“Wynonna, get down here,” she demands.

Wynonna snorts again. “Sure, Five-O. Whatever you say.” She swings her legs back and forth again.

Nicole sighs and toes out of her shoes, carefully pulling off her black socks. She’s not going to climb this tree in her brother’s shoes and scuff them. She rolls the bottom of her dress pants, huffing when the wool doesn’t stay cuffed easily.

“Then I’m coming up there.”

“Like hell you are,” Wynonna fires back.

Nicole growls and squats low, exploding up, The tips of her fingers brush the curve of Wynonna’s foot.

Wynonna screeches and pulls her foot up. “ _ Nicole _ ,” she growls, looking down at Nicole.

Nicole puts her hands back on her hips and does her best impression of her mom. “Get down here  _ right  _ now. We need to get to the service. You’re playing the piano.”

Wynonna’s eyes flash. “I said, I’m not going. And I’m not playing the  _ stupid _ piano ever again.”

Nicole frowns. “But you love piano.”

“I  _ hate _ it,” Wynonna spits. “I hate it. I’m  _ never _ playing it again.”

“Wynonna,” Nicole tries. “You  _ love _ piano. You  _ love _ playing.”

“ _ Curtis _ loved piano,” Wynonna corrects. Her voice is hard.

Nicole thinks of what Wynonna’s piano teacher had told Gus and Curtis, after the last  _ last _ recital. “But… you have so much  _ promise _ ,” she breathes out.

Wynonna laughs, deep and angry. “Yeah. Well. Promises don’t mean anything now, do they?”

Nicole jumps again but she barely gets off the ground.

“If Curtis wants to break  _ his _ promise,” Wynonna continues. “Then why should I keep  _ mine _ ? The next piano I see, I’m setting on fire.”

Nicole puts her hands back on her hips. “Wynonna, get down here.  _ Now _ .”

Wynonna flips her off. “Screw you. And screw Gus. And  _ screw _ Curtis and his dumb piano.”

“Fine,” Nicole says, her jaw locked. “Then I’m coming up.”

Before she can make a move, Wynonna is dropping down in front of her, barefoot and eyes wild. “I’m not going,” she hisses.

Nicole shakes her head. “I told Gus I was bringing you to the-”

Wynonna takes a step towards her, forcing Nicole back. She steps on a stick and her knee buckles, trying to absorb her body weight so she doesn’t put pressure on it. Wynonna takes another step. “If you open your  _ stupid _ mouth one more time, I’m going to knock it off your neck.”

Nicole’s palms sweat where she presses them against her black dress shirt. “Wynonna,” she tries.

Wynonna shoves at her shoulder, her palm flat and hard. “I’m not going to any goddamn  _ service _ . He’s  _ dead _ . Why do we need to  _ celebrate _ it?”

Nicole takes a few quick steps back and steadies herself, bracing for Wynonna’s next shove. She barely moves when Wynonna pushes at her shoulder. “He was a good man, Wynonna.”

“Shut up,” Wynonna shouts. She shoves at Nicole again, harder this time.

Nicole inches back. “He would want you there,” she tries.

“And you would know, wouldn’t you?” Wynonna spits. “He fucking  _ loved _ you. And I was just-”

“He loved you,” Nicole says, her voice wavering. “He loved you so much.”

Wynonna’s hands clench into fists. Nicole can see the muscles in her arms tighten. “I don’t need this shit from you,  _ Haught _ . Not today.”

“Wy-”

“Why don’t you go hold Waverly’s hand, huh? Or pour Gus another drink?” Wynonna’s eyes are hard, darkened under the shadow of the large tree above them. “Why don’t you just leave me  _ alone _ ? Like  _ everyone  _ else.”

Nicole’s mouth drops open. Her shoulders soften and she takes a small step forward. “Wynonna, nobody-”

Wynonna pulls her arm back and high, bringing it down across Nicole’s cheek.

Nicole feels her eyes water instantly. It stings. She drops to one knee and shakes her head, trying to clear the pins and needles in her face. When she pushes to her feet, Wynonna is staring at her own hand, chest heaving. She looks up and catches Nicole’s eye and she growls.

“Listen, Wynonna. I know-”

Wynonna pushes her again. “Hit me back,” Wynonna demands. She pushes Nicole again.

Nicole shakes her head.

Wynonna bares her teeth and shoves, harder. “Hit. Me.”

Nicole can feel a bruise forming on her shoulder. “No,” she says calmly. Her heart is racing.

Wynonna growls and takes three quick steps forward, their arms bending awkwardly between them as she grabs Nicole’s shirt and shoves, pushing until Nicole trips over a stump. They both go down, Nicole hitting the ground first. Wynonna pushes her down, sitting on her.

“ _ Hit me _ ,” she hisses.

“I’m not going to hit you,” Nicole says quietly.

Wynonna pulls back and punches her, catching Nicole’s cheekbone. A sharp pain blooms across her face and she feels her eyes water, but she keeps them open, trained on Wynonna’s hands. When Wynonna pulls back again, Nicole catches her fist. She twists to the side, rolling Wynonna underneath her until she’s sitting on top, the knees of her dress pants pressing into the dirt on either side of Wynonna’s hips. 

Wynonna struggles under her, lifting her hips and trying to buck Nicole off. 

“Wynonna,” Nicole says softly. She gathers both of Wynonna’s hands in one of her own. Her free hand goes to Wynonna’s forehead, brushing some of her hair back.

“ _ Fuck _ you,” Wynonna hisses. “You’re a coward. You can’t even hit me back.” She punctuates each sentence with a twist, trying to move Nicole off her.

Nicole pulls Wynonna’s hands into her chest and tightens her grip. She slides her other hand to the back of Wynonna’s neck. She tries to move Wynonna so they can see eye to eye, but Wynonna twists and turns like a kitten, terrified to be held.

“Wynonna, stop,” she pleads. “Just stop.”

“ _ No _ ,” Wynonna growls, her voice breaking. “ _ No _ . Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me what to do.” She gets one hand free from Nicole’s grasp and chops at Nicole’s elbow. Nicole slumps forward, their forehead’s nearly cracking together, but regains her balance. “Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me to be fucking  _ nice _ .”

Nicole’s grip gives out. “Wynonna,” she breathes out.

Wynonna stops moving under her, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her eyes are wet and red, looking up and past Nicole’s shoulder, up at the sky. “Don’t make me promise to be nice,” she says, her voice cracking. “ _ Please _ .  _ Please _ don’t make me.”

Nicole slips her hands behind Wynonna’s neck, tipping her head back until their eyes meet. “He believed in you.”

“I can’t be  _ nice _ ,” she says. Her eyes search Nicole’s face wildly. “Why did he think I could do that? Why did he make me promise?”

Nicole strokes her thumbs across Wynonna’s cheeks. “He believed in you,” she repeats.

“He was  _ wrong _ ,” Wynonna cries. “He has to be wrong.”

Nicole shakes her head. “He wasn’t. He isn’t.”

Wynonna hiccups loudly, her body sinking back into the dirt. “He’s been gone 5 days and I’ve already fucked everything up.”

Nicole shrugs. “Don’t you think he knew you would?”

Wynonna’s eyes meet Nicole’s and she snorts. “Yeah. He probably did.” Her laugh is watery, and when she sniffles, she coughs. She pushes up onto her elbows. Nicole slides back, resting on Wynonna’s legs. “Shit,” she murmurs, reaching for Nicole’s face. “That’s gonna be black tomorrow.”

Nicole pushes at the tender skin. “It’ll go away.”

Wynonna runs a hand through her hair, dead leaves falling onto her shoulders. “We’re late.”

Nicole nods. “If we leave now, we won’t be too late.”

Wynonna huffs. “I  _ walked _ here.”

“Good thing I stole your bike, then,” Nicole says, pushing back and rising unsteadily to her feet. She holds out a hand and pulls Wynonna up, brushing off Wynonna’s back. She unrolls her pant legs and picks her socks out of the dirt, shoving them into her pocket instead of working them back over her feet. She slips Nathan’s shoes back on and holds out her hand for Wynonna.

Wynonna looks at it for a moment before slapping it away, a soft smile on her face. 

“I’m serious,” Wynonna says quietly, as Nicole lifts the bike and settles on the seat. She climbs up onto the handlebars, one hand squished next to Nicole’s on the grips, the other holding her shoes. “I’m not playing piano again.”

Nicole nods silently, pushing off. The balance is weird and her knees lock; it’s been years since they’ve ridden on the same bike, but she gets the hang of it quickly.

“He promised he’d be there,” Wynonna continues, her voice low.

Nicole keeps pedaling.

“And if he’s not there, I’m not playing.”

Nicole lifts her hand to squeeze Wynonna’s hip and the bike tips violently to one side. “ _ Shit _ ,” she hisses. 

Wynonna laughs and it sounds  _ real _ .

They pedal to the cemetery, Nicole going too slowly and Wynonna too unsteady on the handlebars. It takes them longer than they thought it would. Nicole’s eye is already swelling and she can’t read the street signs.  They drop the bike at the gates and walk towards the small gathering just a few hundred feet in. Nicole pulls at her dress shirt self-consciously, then plucks a leaf out of Wynonna’s hair. She can feel her mom’s eyes burning into the back of her head as she steps up near the front. Wynonna is still barefoot, and the bottom of her dress is torn. One of Nicole’s socks sticks out of her pocket and she hastily shoves it back in. She brushes some leftover dirt of the knee of her pants.

Gus stares at them for a moment as Shorty talks, telling a story about Curtis from when they played football for Purgatory High together. She looks them over, from their feet to their heads, her eyes lingering on Nicole’s face.

She smiles softly and tips her head an inch, beckoning them over.

Nicole’s chest rattles out a sigh of relief. She steps up next to Waverly and exhales softly, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She feels Waverly’s hand slip into her own and squeeze.

She looks up and meets Wynonna’s eyes over Waverly’s head.

_ Keep them on track _ , she thinks.

_ I’m gonna try and do it, Curtis _ , she promises. 


	2. it's been coming for some time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Honey,” Ms. Adler interrupts. “I lost my father, too, when I was younger.”
> 
> I lost my father, too.
> 
> I know you suffered a death in the family. 
> 
> Curtis isn’t my family.
> 
> Nicole can’t get the voices in her head to stop. She presses one flat palm against her forehead, but they don’t stop.

Ms. Daisy, her math teacher, pulls her out of Algebra 1 the next week, after they all finally go back to school. The concrete wall is cold against her back through her thin long-sleeve shirt. She toes the floor and shoves her hands in her pockets and pulls her shoulders in. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay better attention next time,” she mumbles.

Ms. Daisy is young and _nice_ and she puts a warm hand on Nicole’s shoulder, waiting until Nicole looks up before she smiles. “It’s okay, Nicole. I know you suffered a death in the family.”

Nicole frowns. “Curtis wasn’t my family.”

It sounds like a lie, even as the words leave her mouth.

Ms. Daisy’s smile softens. “Wynonna is in my first period class. She’s having a difficult time, too. I just want you to know that it’s okay.”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders and looks past Ms. Daisy, out the second-floor window towards the parking lot. She can see her bike, chained to the rack, next to Wynonna’s.

“If you ever need to talk about anything, my door is always open.” Ms. Daisy drops her hand, squeezing Nicole’s elbow gently before letting go. “Now, why don’t we go back inside? The class is working on solving linear equations. But maybe you can skip the homework just this once and catch up on the classwork?”

Nicole feels her face flush but she nods.

Ms. Daisy opens the door and puts a steady hand on the back of Nicole’s shoulder, leading her into class. Nicole keeps her head down, hearing Xavier whisper behind her as she sits in her seat. She shakes her head quickly and tries to blink back the tears forming in her eyes. She bends her head low over her math book, sliding a finger under each word as she tries to read.

She goes over the same paragraph on linear equations: _A linear equation is an algebraic equation in which each term is either a constant or the product of a constant and (the first power of) a single variable (however, different variables may occur in different terms)_.

None of the words stick in her brain. She keeps thinking about Ms. Daisy saying “ _I know you suffered a death in the family_ ” like she understands what Curtis meant to her. She shakes her head. _Nicole_ didn’t suffer a death. _Gus_ did. _Waverly_ and _Wynonna_ did.

She bites at her thumb again. The skin around her nail is raw and her nail is down to the quick, but she bites down anyway and grabs what little skin she has between her teeth and pulls. She can taste cooper in her mouth when it bleeds and she sucks at it to stop it from running down her fingers.

The bell rings and she startles, her teeth biting down hard on her pointer finger. She hisses and shakes her hand out, closing her book and tucking it under her arm.

Ms. Daisy smiles at her from behind her desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nicole. Remember what I said." 

Nicole nods and slips into the hallway, turning left instead of right and heading for the second-floor bathroom. It’s empty when she gets there, so she takes a second to exhale loudly, pushing the air out of her mouth until her lungs ache.

“ _I know you suffered a death in the family_ ” echoes against the porcelain sinks.

Nicole looks at her reflection in the mirror. “Curtis wasn’t my family,” she repeats. “Curtis wasn’t…”

She clenches her hand into a fist and squeezes until she can feel her fingernails cut into her palm.

The bathroom door bangs open and Nicole flinches.

She’s still thinking it when she gets home that night. Her mom spoons her a serving of chicken casserole and asks how Wynonna is doing.

“She lost her uncle, after all. That man was like a father to her,” her mom says, shaking her head sadly.

Nicole’s fork slips and her chicken casserole lands on the tablecloth.

_Curtis wasn’t my family_ , she thinks. She rubs at the grease stain on the cloth. _I have a father_.

Her mom cleans up the dishes and rolls the tablecloth into a ball, tossing it into the laundry pile, before she puts on her slippers and her bathrobe and turns on _Smith & Smith _. Nicole stares at her English homework until the words bleed. She chews on her pinky finger and taps her fingers against the bare kitchen table, sneaking glances back at her mom until something snaps in her chest.

“I’m calling Wynonna,” she shouts over the canned laughter from the television. The lie sticks in her mouth and tastes bad, but she grabs her chair and pushes it into the pantry. She grabs the phone off the wall and stretches the cord until it goes taut. She drags her finger over the keypad and sighs, punching in a number she memorized as soon as she got it.

It rings a few times and the pressure in her chest builds until there’s a click and a low voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” Nicole clears her throat. “Hi. It’s, uh, it’s me.”

There’s a pause. “Who?”

“Nicole,” she breathes out.

“Oh.” Something thumps on the other end. “Well, hey, kiddo.”

Nicole uses her fingernails to scratch at her thumb. “Hi, Dad.”

“It’s late,” he hums.

Nicole opens the pantry door and checks the clock on the wall. “It’s only 8:30.”

“Here,” her dad corrects, a slight laugh in his voice. “It’s 10:30 here.”

“Oh,” Nicole says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, kiddo,” he interrupts. “I’m glad you called. It’s… It’s been awhile, huh?”

Nicole shrugs. It’s been five years, three months, and twelve days, but she’s not counting out loud anymore. She had spent all 1,927 of those days angry at him for leaving; for finding a new wife; for having a new kid. She spent all 1,927 of those days grateful for her mom and Curtis and Gus and Wynonna and Waverly.

Curtis is gone now, but Curtis wasn’t her family.

She has still has a dad. Even if he’s 4,650 km away, he’s her dad. He’s _alive_.

Then she remembers he can’t see her and she clears her throat. “Yeah. A while.”

“Everything okay?” he asks. “Is Nathan okay?”

Nicole scrapes her teeth against the skin beneath her nail on her middle finger. “Everything’s fine. We’re… we’re okay. Nathan is, uh, in high school. Me, too.”

Her dad clicks his tongue. “That’s right. A sophomore this year?”

Nicole frowns. “A freshman.”

“Right, right,” he says quickly. “So, what’ve you been up to? You cheerleading? You know, Susan used to be a cheerleader.”

It takes Nicole a minute to place the name Susan, but when she does, she scowls. _Susan_ , who would love to meet her sometime. _Susan_ , the woman her dad remarried. _Susan_ , her stepmom.

“I don’t cheer,” Nicole says, interrupting her dad.

He goes quiet. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Well, that’s okay. You got a boyfriend yet?”

Nicole swallows heavily and thinks of Waverly and the way she dances around to the worst music ever, but somehow makes it look good; the way she smiles; the way the sun hits her hair and makes her look like an angel.

“No,” she breathes out.

Her dad is quiet again. “Oh, well. That’s okay. You’re young. You have plenty of time to find someone.”

Nicole starts picking at her ring finger, hissing softly when a long stretch of skin pulls. She sticks her finger in her mouth and sucks on it for a second. “Curtis died,” she blurts out.

“Curtis…”

“McCready,” Nicole says, her eyes narrowed. “Curtis McCready. Wynonna’s uncle.”

“ _Oh_ ,” her dad finally says. “Curtis. Wow. That’s… Well, I’m real sorry about that, Nicole.”

Nicole kicks at the cabinet door. “Last week. He died last week.”

There’s something on the other end of the line, a mumbling that sounds like her dad has cupped his hand over the receiver and is talking to someone else. Nicole counts to 50 in her head before she can hear him breathing in her ear again.

“Last week?” he asks.

Nicole digs her teeth into her finger.

“That’s too bad, kiddo.”

Nicole opens her mouth to ask something else when she hears a baby cry. Her dad’s voice gets distant again and the baby stops. Nicole has bitten down on two other fingers before he comes back again.

“Your letters,” Nicole starts.

“Oh, you got them?” her dad sounds distracted, like he’s rocking his baby’s bassinet or folding laundry. She can’t ever remember him doing laundry when they lived in the same house, but maybe _Susan_ has him doing it on his own.

She has thirteen of the fourteen letters he’s written her, stashed in one of the drawers of her desk. The first one, the one she doesn’t have anymore, is probably in a landfill somewhere, torn to pieces. It was the letter he wrote explaining why he needed to go; even without the pages in her hands, she can remember exactly what he wrote: how it wasn’t her or Nathan’s fault, how people fall out of love, how people move on.

In every letter, he wrote she should visit; he misses her; he wants to see her more.

Curtis is gone, but Curtis wasn’t her family. Curtis is gone, but her dad is alive.

“Maybe I can visit you?” She kicks the cabinet again. “Winter break is coming up and I was thinking I could come see you?”

Her dad hesitates. He breathes out slowly and she can almost picture him, standing in his kitchen with the phone against his ear, scratching the top of his head. “ _Oh_ ,” he says slowly.

“You wrote and told me I should visit, right?” she asks.

“Well, I mean. That’s right.” he says, his voice still low and slow and stretching out each word. “I did say that.”

Nicole nods to herself. _My dad is alive_. She peels off a corner of her thumb nail with her teeth. “So I can talk to Mom and we can get a plane ticket or a train ticket and I can come see you for winter break.”

“Nicole,” he sighs. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“But you wrote-”

He sighs again. “I know what I wrote, kiddo. But with the baby and-and I got a new job and Susan is having a hard time with the neighborhood ladies and-”

Nicole cuts him off. “But you said that-”

“I know what I wrote,” he interrupts. “I’m just not sure right now is the right time.”

Nicole bites down too hard and feels the edge of her tooth cut deep into her skin. “Why not?” she asks, trying not to let herself cry. She wipes hastily at her eyes. “You said I should visit.”

“The baby,” her dad repeats. “And these women on the street, they’re really-" 

“Because you have your _other_ family,” Nicole cuts in, her voice thick. “Because you don’t _care_ about us anymore.”

“Now, Nicole,” her dad, his voice firm in the way it used to get when she would try and borrow one of his Grateful Dead tapes. “That’s-”

“Why I can’t visit you,” she finishes, angry.

“Not right _now_ ,” he tries. “Maybe in a few months, when things have-”

Nicole is shaking her head, the tears in her eyes sliding down her face quicker than she can wipe them away. “You _left_ . You just _left._ You didn’t even say anything.” She slams a fist down into a stack of canned beans. “You told me to keep them on track and then you _left_.”

“What?” her dad asks. “Nicole, what are you talking about?”

Nicole pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it. She can still hear her dad talking into his end of the line.

“It’s just not a good time right now,” he’s still saying. “Maybe next summer, when things have settled down, we can talk about it again, okay? I think that maybe we need to plan some-”

Nicole pulls the pantry door open and slams the phone back down into the cradle. It taps the switchhook but doesn’t catch and it clatters to the floor. She can hear the dial tone going but she doesn’t stop to pick it up. She takes the steps three at a time, her legs aching as she over-stretches them, and pushes into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and throwing herself onto her bed. She can hear the laugh track for _Smith & Smith _ turn up in the living room, seeping into her room under the door.

_Curtis wasn’t my family_ , she thinks. _And neither is Neil Haught_.

She’s still fuming about it the next morning, when Ms. Adler taps her on the shoulder and beckons her out of biology and into the hallway.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Nicole says through her teeth. “I wasn’t-”

Ms. Adler lifts a hand to cut her off. “Nicole, it’s okay. All of the faculty know what happened, and we’re just worried about you girls.”

Nicole feels her hand clench into a fist, a stiffness building in her arm. She glares up at Ms. Adler and shakes her head. “No, I-”

“It’s okay,” Ms. Alder repeats. She puts a cool hand on Nicole’s bare forearm.

Nicole flinches and pulls away. “I just-”

“Honey,” Ms. Adler interrupts. “I lost my father, too, when I was younger.”

_I lost my father, too._

_I know you suffered a death in the family_. 

_Curtis isn’t my family_.

Nicole can’t get the voices in her head to stop. She presses one flat palm against her forehead, but they don’t stop.

“I know what losing someone like that can mean,” Ms. Adler continues. “It must be so difficult.”

She squeezes her eyes tight, trying to block out the look on Ms. Adler’s face. She can hear the _click clack_ of someone’s heels in the hallway.

“Wynonna is very upset, too. It makes sense that you would both be so hurt right now.”

“Stop!” Nicole screams. She pulls her arm back and punches out, catching her first two knuckles on the concrete wall. The pain vibrates from her hand into her wrist and up through her elbow into her shoulder, still bruised from Wynonna’s anger. Her eyes are burning and her hand is throbbing and Ms. Adler is a blurry shape to her left, but she can hear the sharp _click click click_ of heels coming up behind her. A hand grabs her shoulder and spins her.

“Ms. Haught!” Ms. Lucado yells. Her fingers dig too hard into her bruised shoulder and Nicole bends under the pain. “Punching walls is _unacceptable_ behavior in this building.” She pulls, and Nicole stumbles forward.

“No, Ms. Lucado,” Ms. Adler starts. “Nicole was-”

“We’re going to Principal Moody’s office _right now_.” Ms. Lucado pulls again, and Nicole wills her feet to work, to go one in front of the other. Ms. Adler gets further away, her voice fading as Nicole follows Ms. Lucado blindly.

She slumps into the seat in front of Principal Moody’s desk, letting Ms. Lucado do the talking. She doesn’t correct her when Lucado says she was destroying school property. She doesn’t interrupt when Lucado points out that _while she lost a family member, we cannot excuse property destruction of any kind_. She doesn’t even blink when Moody huffs and tells her she’ll have detention that afternoon.

“ _Detention_ ,” Wynonna repeats when Nicole tells her at lunch. “ _Nicole Haught_ has _detention_.”

Nicole flexes her hand, opening and closing it as she watches the scrapes pull tight and then relax. She looks up at her tray and then at Wynonna. “Yeah,” she rasps.

“For _punching a wall_.”

Nicole looks around quickly. People are already starting to stare at her, leaning over and whispering in their friends’ ears. She scowls as she makes eye contact with Xavier Dolls and he looks away quickly.

Wynonna shakes her head. She picks up the apple from Nicole’s tray and takes a large bite. “I didn’t know you had it in you,” she says casually, apple skin hanging out of her mouth. “Waves is going to be pissed, though.”

Nicole’s head snaps around to Wynonna again. _Waverly_. She hadn’t even thought of Waverly.

Wynonna snorts. “Yeah. Did you forget you promised you’d help her with her diorama?”

Nicole had forgotten. “Shit,” she breathes out. Her hand tightens again.

Wynonna shrugs. “She’ll get over it. It’s only Monday. She has all week. I mean, you’ve been _living_ with us for two weeks. Waverly can live without you for a few hours.” She takes another bite from the apple. “ _Detention_. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She looks Nicole up and down and frowns. “By the way, what is that shirt?”

Nicole picks at the fabric and frowns. It’s a plain white t-shirt, just like she usually wears. “What’s wrong with it?”

Wynonna stares at her for a second, her mouth twisted in a frown. “I don’t know. _Something_.” She puts down her apple and reaches for Nicole’s hand. “Let me see this thing. I want to be able to describe it when Doc asks me about it after he gets out of math.”

Nicole slowly sticks out her hand. Wynonna takes it in her own, turning it over and studying it. She frowns, and Nicole snatches her hand back, sticking it under the table.

“Dude,” Wynonna says. “Your hands are _grody_. Is that from biting your fingernails?”

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Wynonna shudders. “You should clean those out. Even I know they look bad,” she says, but she doesn’t bring it up again.

Detention is quiet. There’s only one other person there, a girl who makes everyone call her Valdez. She’s in the back of the room, carving her name into the top of the desk. Nicole sits toward the windows, ignoring the slight breeze coming in through the old frames. Mr. Smith, an art teacher, kicks his feet up onto the desk and pulls a baseball cap down low over his eyes. Nicole looks around the room and then at Mr. Smith, but he doesn’t look like he’s moving.

She pulls her Walkman out of her backpack and fishes through the broken pencils at the bottom of her bag until her fingers brush the top of a cassette case. She’s pretty sure she only brought one cassette - a Boston cassette she took of the shelf above Curtis’s desk. “Don’t Look Back” starts as Nicole slides her headphones over her ears, adjusting the foam pieces so they sit right. She lets her eyes close.

By the time she gets to “Used To Be Bad News,” Mr. Smith is tapping her impatiently on the shoulder.

“Detention is over. Go home,” he says gruffly.

Nicole blinks a few times, wiping at a small line of drool sliding down her chin. Valdez is smirking at her from the back row. She stands, but her headphone cord catches on the arm of the desk and jerks her back down. It takes her a minute to untangle herself.

“You were pretty out of it,” Valdez says.

Nicole jumps, taking a minute to calm her racing heart by smoothing down her shirt, despite the wrinkles she can’t work out. Her headphones hang around her neck and she can just barely hear Brad Delp and the opening lines to “Don’t Be Afraid.”

“Things on my mind,” Nicole muttes. She presses the stop button on her Walkman twice, popping the tape out. She slides it back into the cassette case. She pauses as she drops the case back into her backpack. There _are_ things on her mind: Curtis and Wynonna and Waverly and Gus and letting everyone down. But for the first time in two weeks, away from all of them for an hour, her mind is quiet.

She’s not thinking about standing in front of the jukebox and staring down anyone who tries to play a Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band song, because they’ll make Waverly cry. She’s not thinking about threatening to knock off Bobo’s top if he complains _one more time_ about the way Gus makes him wear his gloves while he cooks. She’s not thinking about apologizing to all the people Wynonna will dump milkshakes on. She’s not thinking about what to make them for dinner, or how to avoid cleaning out Curtis’s closet for just one day more. She’s not thinking about everyone coming up to her, touching her arm or her shoulder or her hand and telling her they’re _so sorry for your loss_.

For the first time in two weeks, Nicole isn’t thinking about any of that. She isn’t thinking of _anything_.

She gets on her bike and pulls her Boston cassette back out, sliding it into her Hitachi TRK 5030E. “Don’t Look Back” comes on again as she pedals off of school property.

_“Don’t look back. A new day is breakin’. It’s been too long since I’ve felt this way_ ,” Brad Delp croons.

Nicole coasts aimlessly down the street, her front wheel weaving back and forth. For the first time in two weeks, she can’t feel the weight of Curtis’s expectations on her shoulders, and it’s easy to pretend that no one is relying on her; no one is expecting her to be the one to hold everyone together.

For a minute, she can pretend it’s okay to be sad that he’s gone; that if she breaks, she’s not letting everyone else down.

“ _I finally see the dawn arrivin’. I see beyond the road I’m drivin’.”_

She pulls both feet back quickly and brakes, skidding softly as she reaches the intersection where Maple meets Main Street. She can see The Patch, the big neon lights bright even in the afternoon sun. She can hear the faint bells coming from Shorty’s as people slide tokens into machines. Main Street starts to blur as her eyes water, all smudged neon and exhaust fumes as cars waiting at the single stoplight in Purgatory. She hastily wipes at her eyes.

If she turns left, up Main Street, she’ll pull her bike into the rack outside of The Patch and the bell will ring when she walks in and Waverly will hug her tightly and scold her for getting detention and then cry into her shoulder. If she turns left and into The Patch, Gus will squeeze her shoulder tightly and ask her if she can make sure the girls get home and eat. If she goes into The Patch, Wynonna will scoff and clap her on the back and then spend the night wrapped around her, not saying anything because the tears will get there before the words do.

If she goes straight, past Main Street and onto Beech, she can pedal out to their secret hideout in the woods and be alone. If she goes to the secret hideout, even for a few hours - and makes it back to the McCready house before it gets too dark - she can be _sad_ and not be afraid anyone will catch her.

Her leg buckles slightly. Curtis _died_. Curtis died and Gus barely sleeps - except when she’s too physically exhausted to stand, and only when she curls up into Curtis’s armchair and wraps herself in his blanket. Curtis died and Wynonna really did set fire to the next piano she saw, an old beat up one out in the alley behind Shorty’s. Curtis died and Waverly still refuses to go to bed unless Nicole unbraids her hair and combs it out and lets her curl up in Nicole’s arms.

Curtis died and for a minute, Nicole is _relieved_ to be free of everyone for one hour.

The guilt makes her legs give out and she’d fall if she wasn’t already sitting on her bike.

Curtis’s voice is still in her head, playing on a loop: _Keep them on track_.

She had promised, she had looked into his eyes and _promised_ , and the guilt of maybe letting him down, of letting Gus and Wynonna and Waverly suffer without her, of getting off track, is too much. Her chest tightens and she can’t breathe.

_“Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.”_

She can see Curtis in the distance, a rare frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. _You promised_ , _Nicole_ , the look in his eyes seems to say.

The guilt builds, twisting in her gut now. She promised, and all she wants is to take it back; just for one minute, she doesn’t want her promise to count.

Nicole feels her throat tighten and pulls the front of her bike back. She looks back down Main Street and she goes straight.  


-

Waverly corners her on Friday.

Nicole is trying to duck out of Wynonna’s slipstream as they ride their bikes towards The Patch. She’d managed to do it on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. On Tuesday, she told Wynonna her mom needed her home to help with a dinner party for her boss; on Wednesday, she lied and said her mom told her she needed to clean her room or be grounded for a week; on Thursday, she couldn’t find anything to lie about and she just mumbled a goodbye before turning off Main Street a few storefronts before The Patch, and doubling back down the road towards her house.

Each day, she had laid down on her bed and listened to songs that reminded her of Curtis - “Desperado” and “Against the Wind” and “Bad Company” and “Oh Diane” - and tried not to picture him in the kitchen of the McCready house, calling her one of his girls and trusting her. She tried not to think of Gus checking the door to see if she was coming in, or Waverly calling her house to ask if she was coming over, or Wynonna staring at her funny in the morning when she finally showed up to ride into school.

On Friday, she opens her mouth to come up with an excuse - she’s been going back and forth all day, thinking she’ll either tell Wynonna that Nathan needs her help ordering his tapes, or that her mom wants her to be home for a weekend for once - when someone comes to a skidding halt in front of her.

Waverly is panting, leaning over the handlebars of her bike, the pink tassles swishing noisily.

“What the _hell_ , Waves?” Wynonna mutters. She runs her hands through her hair and pushes it back out of her eyes.

Nicole looks up quickly, but won’t meet Waverly’s eyes. She can feel the fire in them from where she’s sitting on the edge of her bike seat, picking at the grip on her handlebar.

“Gus wants you,” Waverly tells Wynonna, her voice calm.

Nicole clears her throat. “I’ve got to-”

“I want to talk to _you_ ,” Waverly continues in her calm voice, her eyes on Nicole now. Nicole looks ahead, at the neon lights coming from the barbershop next to The Patch.

“My mom-”

“ _Please_ ,” Waverly interrupts.

Nicole sighs and finally meets Waverly’s eyes. “Okay, yeah.”

Wynonna pats her once on the shoulder and flips her off, pedaling ahead and stopping right in front of the bike rack. She slides her front wheel into the slat and pulls her backpack off the handlebars. The bell chimes softly as she heads inside.

Waverly doesn’t say anything. Nicole counts to thirty before she looks up, finding Waverly staring at right back at her, unblinking.

Nicole clears her throat, ready to try again. “I really should-”

Waverly pushes off her bike, letting it hit the pavement with a clang that makes Nicole’s entire body ache. She looks away again for a moment before she looks back, expecting Waverly to be glaring; to be advancing on her; to grab her by the jean jacket and shake her.

She’s not expecting Waverly’s autumn-cool hands on her jaw, light and careful as they pull Nicole’s head around. They slide down her neck and rest at the collar of her jean jacket, smoothing down the denim. She’s not expecting Waverly’s eyes to be warm, and just a little red at the corners, but wide and open. She’s not expecting Waverly’s bottom lip to quiver slightly before Waverly bites down into it, stilling its movement.

“Hey, what is it?” Nicole asks softly. She stands a little taller, both legs still on either side of her bike. “Waves, what’s wrong?”

“Where _are_ you, Nicole?” Waverly’s voice breaks on her name.

Nicole’s shoulders drops. “Waverly,” she sighs. She looks around Main Street, at the middle school kids pressed up against the windows at Shorty’s and the high school kids piling into The Patch. She rests her hand on Waverly’s and tries to loosen her grip by weaving their fingers together. “I can’t right now. I-”

“Have somewhere else to be,” Waverly finishes. "You’ve been gone for _days_.”

Nicole tries to pull away again, but Waverly’s grip tightens.

“Gus is asking where you are. If Wynonna didn’t see you every day, she said, she’d think you’d left town,” Waverly says matter-of-factly. “And Wynonna won’t let me sleep in her bed if you’re not there, and she cries all the time when she thinks no one can hear her. And…” Waverly bites on her bottom lip again. Nicole’s chest squeezes uncomfortably. “I can’t sleep without you.”

The same guilt that’s been simmering in her stomach is a rolling boil now. Her whole stomach aches with it, and she resists the urge to double over. _Keep them on track_ , Curtis had said. And she didn’t. She avoided them and she let Curtis down.

Nicole scratches at the back of her neck, where the ends of her hair meet her collar. “You… You can’t?”

Waverly sighs, a long exhale that blows some hair out of her face. “Can we go somewhere?” She takes a step back and lets go of Nicole’s jacket.

Nicole wants to say _no_ . She wants to shout _no_ and pedal as fast her legs will go, back to her house and her room and her tapes; back where the guilt is manageable and she can pull the covers over her head and pretend that nothing ever changed. She wants to scream _no_ and ride back to when Curtis was alive and her dad still lived at home and Waverly was just her best friend’s little sister and everything didn’t _hurt_ so much.

But Waverly’s eyes are more brown than green today and she’s giving Nicole the same nervous smile that she did when she was practicing her cheerleading and her hand reaches out to brush against the buttons on Nicole’s jacket in a way that Nicole knows means Waverly is nervous.

So she nods yes and lets Waverly brush a thumb across her cheek and pick her bike back up. She lets Waverly look back over her shoulder and give her a shaky smile. She lets Waverly pedal off down Main Street and Nicole follows, the radio in her basket turned off for once. Waverly looks back every so often, just to make sure Nicole is still there, and every time, she gives Nicole that same nervous smile.

Nicole realizes where they’re going as soon as they make the turn onto the trail path. Dead leaves crunch under their tires and Nicole tries not to think of Wynonna sitting in a tree, cursing Curtis’s name. Waverly drops her bike, easier this time, and kicks away some leaves before she sits down on a stump. Nicole leans her bike up against a tree and shoves her hands in her jean pockets, kicking at twigs and leaves.

“Nicole,” Waverly starts.

“What do you want, Waverly?” Nicole knows the words are sharp - too sharp - but she feels too exposed right now, too out in the open in this secluded section of the woods, Waverly staring right through her.

Waverly doesn’t flinch. “I want to know if you’re okay.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Nicole says through gritted teeth. 

“Nicole,” Waverly breathes out. “You’re _not_ okay. You’ve spent all this time making sure me and Wynonna and Gus are okay, but we haven’t asked if _you’re_ okay.”

Nicole tries to give Waverly a reassuring smile. It feels more like a grimace. “I’m fine,” she insists.

Waverly comes towards her slowly, holding her hands out in front of her so Nicole can see them. They reach for her jacket, gripping the collar and pulling it back over Nicole’s shoulders. Nicole frowns and tries to move back but Waverly has too tight of a grip and Nicole’s arms are stuck in the sleeves of her jacket. She lets Waverly manhandle her out of the denim and when she’s free, she steps back and pulls her arms across her stomach.

“What the hell, Waverly?”

Waverly takes a step towards her. “You’re _not_ fine.” She threads her fingers through Nicole’s arm, wrapping around her still-healing hand. “You punched a wall. You won’t come to The Patch.” She brushes her thumb across the scabs on Nicole’s knuckles, her fingers dragging down to the tips of Nicole’s, pausing for a moment. “What did you do to your hands?” she asks quietly.

Nicole tries to pull them back, but Waverly won’t let her. “They’re not that bad,” she says weakly.

Waverly sighs softly. “Your shirt is wrinkled,” she says abruptly.

Nicole looks down, her cheeks burning. “What?”

“I know we don’t ride to school, but I see you, in the mornings.” Waverly shrugs one shoulder. “And your shirts. They’re wrinkled. And Wynonna said something the other day, about how it looks… _off_.”

Nicole pulls her hand out Waverly’s and takes another step back. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“ _Nicole_ ,” Waverly breathes out. “You didn’t even cuff your pants.”

Nicole looks down again, at the loose, ragged ends of the jeans she’s worn all week. “That doesn’t-”

Waverly lifts an eyebrow, daring her to argue.

Nicole looks down again. She’d spent most of the week pulling the hem out from under her sneakers, annoyed that they were so long, but not doing anything about it. And her shirts were a little more wrinkled than normal, but she just didn’t have the time.

Waverly holds fist up in front of her face. “You punched a wall.” One finger goes up. “You won’t _look_ at me.” Another finger. “You won’t come to The Patch, even though I know you’re not really helping your mom or Nathan or doing any of those things you say you are.” A third finger. “Your shirts are wrinkled and your sleeves aren’t rolled.” Her pinky goes up. Then she sticks out her thumb. “And you haven’t even cuffed your pants.”

Nicole grinds her back teeth together. “None of that means-”

“ _Nicole_ ,” Waverly says again. She reaches out and touches Nicole’s chin. Her hands are warm now, and the tips of her fingers press into Nicole’s skin. “You’ve taken care of us, but who is taking care of _you_?”

The words bubble out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“Curtis wasn’t my family.”

Waverly flinches and  pulls back, her fingernails scraping against Nicole’s chin. Nicole winces, rubbing at the small scrape.

“What?” Waverly asks. “Of _course_ he was-”

Nicole shakes her head before Waverly can keep going. “He wasn’t. He wasn’t my uncle. He wasn’t my father. He was just-”

“He was Curtis,” Waverly interrupts. “He was-”

“He was _what_ , Waverly?” Nicole asks, her voice rough.

Waverly’s eyes are wet now, red at the edges. “He was _yours,_ too,” she breathes out.

Something wet and heavy catches in Nicole’s throat and she bites down on her lip to try to keep it in but it comes out anyway. It rips through her body like fire, and she presses her hand hard against her chest to ease the pressure.

“He-he _wasn’t_ ,” she says, the words breaking as she sobs again. “He wasn’t mine. He was _yours_. He made me promise to take care of you, and I couldn’t-” She stops, trying to suck in air. She shudders as it floods through her lungs. “I can’t do it, Waverly. I can’t keep you on track.”

Waverly takes a slow step towards her. “You don’t have to.”

Nicole’s head snaps up. “He made me promise.”

“Nicole, he meant as much to you as he did to me,” Waverly says calmly, taking another small step towards her. Nicole scrambles back, her feet sliding on the dead leaves. Waverly stops and puts her hands up. “He loved you, didn’t he?”

“He…” Nicole pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. This one doesn’t burn as much. “Yes,” she admits.

“As much as he loved Wynonna,” Waverly continues. “As much as he loved me.”

Nicole takes another breath. She thinks back to that big music shop in the mall, staring longingly at _Get The Knack_ and how Curtis had slipped it into her hand when he dropped her off at home. She thinks about how he winked at her and told her she did a good job looking after Wynonna and Waverly and he was real proud of her.

She inhales again, her mind swirling before another memory forms: Curtis at the bottom of the stairs, kindness in his eyes. He had sent Wynonna into the kitchen and stopped Nicole by the front door, his hand heavy on her shoulder. He had given her a soft smile and an even softer squeeze and told her he would always accept her for whoever she wanted to be. Her chest tightened and her eyes burned, but he had kissed her on the forehead and told her he would always be an ear to listen, if she ever wanted to talk.

She exhales shakily, Waverly back in front of her now.

“Yes,” she repeats.

Waverly nods encouragingly. “He would want you to be taken care of, too,” she says quietly. She holds out one hand, crooking her fingers at Nicole, motioning for her to come closer.

Nicole can still feel every breath dislodging something in her chest. She lets Waverly come closer; lets Waverly run her hand across her back and tug her in until Nicole’s nose bumps against Waverly’s collarbone; lets Waverly tighten her grip and pull until Waverly is sitting back down on the stump and Nicole is wrapped around her body.

Waverly runs her fingers through the ends of Nicole’s hair and breathes in and out steadily. “You did a good job, Nicole,” she whispers. “That’s what he would say, right?”

Nicole sobs. She tries to open her mouth to answer, to tell Waverly that Curtis would probably say that - or he would tell a bad joke - but she sobs instead. It starts in the pit of her stomach and builds up through her throat and comes out in such a strangled noise that Nicole doesn’t recognize it at first. But then Waverly is squeezing her tighter and cooing in her ear and Nicole lets herself cry. Her face is hot and Waverly’s shirt is damp and her hand aches as she stretches it across Waverly’s back, but she thinks of Curtis and she cries.

“ _For you, there’ll be no more crying_ ” Waverly sings softly in her ear.

Nicole hiccups. She can remember Curtis singing “Songbird” to Waverly after she fractured her arm, years ago.

“ _For you, the sun will be shining. And I feel that when I’m with you_ . _It’s all right, I know it’s right,_ ” she continues. She runs one hand through Nicole’s hair and rocks gently. “ _To you, I’ll give the world. To you, I’ll never be cold_.”

Nicole can remember Curtis scooping Waverly up into his arms and rocking her back and forth as he walked to his truck, sliding her into the cab and lifting Nicole up next to her. She can still hear him singing softly as he backed down the driveway slowly, careful not to jostle Waverly, back in Nicole’s arms.

_“Cause I feel that when I'm with you. It's alright, I know it's right._ ” Waverly sings. “ _And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score._ ”

Nicole lets her eyes close for a moment, and Waverly’s voice grows deeper, fuller.

“ _And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before,_ ” Curtis sings.

Nicole presses her face harder into Waverly’s shoulder and she breathes. She lifts her head and untangles herself from Waverly, wiping at her eyes self-consciously. Waverly smiles at her softly and smoothes down the ends of her hair.

“Sorry,” Nicole murmurs.

Waverly shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry.” She looks down and twists her fingers in Nicole’s shirt. “But come over? Please? Someone needs to clean your hands. And Gus… she’s worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you.”

Nicole thinks about saying no; she’s not sure she can look Gus in the eyes and pretend like she hasn’t been hiding away for a week. But Waverly smiles hopefully and the back of her knuckles brush against her stomach and she feels something in her chest - something light and soft - flutter nervously. She nods, staring up at Waverly.

Waverly stands and offers her hand to Nicole, pulling her to her feet before she drops back down to her knees.

“Waverly, what-”

Waverly shushes her. “Hold on,” she says. Her fingers brush against Nicole’s ankles as she slowly rolls Nicole’s jeans up in uneven sections. One cuff rests on the top of her sneaker and the other shows too much ankle, but Waverly grins up at her proudly and Nicole just nods.

“Thanks,” she breathes out.

Waverly shrugs and lifts her bicycle off the ground, walking it over to Nicole’s. She fishes through the basket on the front of Nicole’s bicycle and comes up with “Make It Big” by Wham!, grinning widely as she slips it into Nicole’s radio.

Nicole groans softly. “Not Wham!, Waverly.”

Waverly pushes off, pedaling forward a few feet. “ _You put the boom boom into my heart_ ,” she sings loudly and off-key.

Nicole watches her pedal away for a minute before she gets on her bicycle and takes off after her.

When she gets to the McCready house, her feet slip off the pedals for a second. She stares at the open garage, Curtis’s truck parked inside and covered in a tarp. Waverly nudges her gently and Nicole shakes her head until she unsticks from the sidewalk. She carries her bike up onto the front porch, then Waverly’s, and shuts off her Hitachi, popping out the Wham! tape and putting it back in its case.

She looks up and Waverly is grinning at her. “What?”

“You don’t even _like_ Wham!, but you still take care of it like it’s a Def Leppard tape,” she says, leaning back against the porch rail.

Nicole shrugs and straightens the six cassettes in her basket, dragging her fingertip across each one. “It’s still a cassette,” she breathes out.

Waverly laughs softly and grabs her by the back of the shirt, tugging her across the porch and through the front door. The screen door slams behind them and it echoes in Nicole’s chest in a way that’s warm and familiar. Waverly stops short and Nicole runs into her back, one hand sliding around Waverly’s waist to steady them both.

Gus is in the doorway to the kitchen, a spatula in one hand. She narrows her eyes as she looks down the hallway and then she turns, putting the spatula down, taking slow, measured steps down the hallway. She stops in front of Waverly, her eyes on Nicole.

Nicole swallows heavily, her hand flexing on Waverly’s hipbone. Waverly puts a hand over hers, pressing softly before sliding out from under her arm and climbing the first step of the staircase, leaning over the bannister.

Gus tips Nicole’s chin up, her eyes roaming Nicole’s face before moving down her body, to her shirt and her hands and her jeans and the terrible job Waverly did cuffing her pants. She finally looks back up and meets Nicole’s eyes.

Nicole holds her breath until her lungs burn.

Gus’s eyes finally soften. She smiles a little and wraps an arm around Nicole’s neck, pulling her in tightly. “Welcome home, girl,” she breathes into Nicole’s ear.

Nicole’s knees give out for a second but Gus’s grip tightens, holding her up. Tears push at the back of her eyes again. She can feel Waverly reaching for her, gripping her elbow through her jean jacket, grounding her.

After a minute, Nicole’s eyes don’t burn anymore. She slowly unwinds from Gus, ducking her head a little. Gus keeps a warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “You’re staying for dinner.”

It’s not a question, but Nicole nods anyway.

“Good.” Gus nods sharply. “Go on upstairs for a bit, it won’t be done for a while. We’re having chili tonight.”

Waverly’s hand is still wrapped around Nicole’s elbow. She tugs softly, pulling Nicole up the stairs one step at a time. At the top of the landing, Nicole goes right, towards the bathroom, but Waverly pushes her left, towards her bedroom. “Go,” she says. “I’ll be right there.”

Nicole steps into Waverly’s room slowly. She usually spends her time in Wynonna’s room, and Waverly’s room couldn’t be any different. It’s all pastels and flower petals, a large sunflower on the wall. Nicole remembers the summer Curtis drew it out and painted it in; that first summer Waverly and Wynonna moved in. Nicole had carried buckets of paint up the stairs and sat on the floor with Wynonna and Waverly, listening to Curtis sing along with “My Sharona” on the radio.

Waverly had always sung “My Wynonna” instead.

She sits down carefully on the edge of Waverly’s bed, her knees pressed together and her hands under her legs.

Waverly slides in through the doorway, bandages and gauze and tubes of ointment in her hands. She shrugs when Nicole gives her a look. “I took a first aid class. I know what I’m doing.” She drops everything onto the bed next to Nicole. “Alright. Stick ‘em out.”

Nicole dutifully stretches her hands out in front of her, resting them on her knees. Waverly kneels in front of her again, wiping Nicole’s right hand with a warm, wet cloth. It’s just water, but it stings a little as she runs it over the hangnails and the dead skin. Waverly wipes each finger clean, sighing as she cleans the small cuts out.

“Nicole, you can’t do this again,” Waverly says softly.

Nicole swallows, but nods. “I just-”

Waverly looks up at her. “Just promise me you won’t do it again?”

Nicole stares at Waverly, unblinking. “I promise,” she breathes out.

Waverly nods and looks back down, taking Nicole’s left hand in her own. She picks up another wet cloth and gently wipes down each finger. She puts both hands back on Nicole’s knees, her palms facing up. She picks up a clean washcloth and pats them down. The rough fabric catches on a few of the places where the skin is trying to grow back, but Nicole forces herself not to wince.

She tries her best to stay completely still, but Waverly is so close again and Nicole can feel her fingers through the heavy denim of her jeans.

Waverly uncaps the antibiotic gel and smears some on her finger, rubbing it over Nicole’s. Her hands don’t burn as much when Waverly cools them down with the antibiotic. She lets her hands hover just above her jeans so she doesn’t get the knees greasy. Waverly wipes her hands on a wet washcloth and bites down on her bottom lip, focusing all of her attention on the handful of bandages in front of her.

“You don’t need to,” Nicole says quietly. “I can do it myself.”

Waverly looks up only to roll her eyes. “Can it,” she murmurs, smiling to take the sting out of the words.

Waverly peels five bandages apart and lays them out on her leg, wrapping them one at a time around Nicole’s fingers. She uses two bandages on Nicole’s pointer finger, smoothing the woven fabric around the skin. She drops Nicole’s first hand and picks up the other, going through it all over again.

Nicole’s breath catches in her throat and she nearly chokes as Waverly lifts Nicole’s thumb, pressing it softly to her mouth.

“There,” she murmurs. “All better.”

Wynonna crashes through the door, bouncing off the frame. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and frowns as she looks down at them. Her eyes land on Nicole’s hands and her frown disappears. “Oh, good. Someone finally talked you out out of doing that.”

Waverly’s thumb brushes across the back of Nicole’s hand.

“Right,” Nicole says dumbly. She keeps staring at Waverly.

The room goes quiet again until Wynonna huffs and throws something at Nicole. She doesn’t catch it and the tape hits her in the chest, then falls onto her knees and slides down the denim into Waverly’s lap.

“Come on. Doc let me borrow his new Iron Maiden tape and I want to listen to it,” she says impatiently.

Waverly stands up, holding the tape. “After that, can we listen to Men At Work?”

Wynonna groans. “ _No_ , Waverly. Men At Work are the _worst_.” She looks over Waverly’s head at Nicole. “I can’t wait until we have a place where we don’t have to listen to shitty music.”

Waverly narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “You’re not supposed to swear, Wynonna.”

“You’re supposed to have better taste in music,” Wynonna fires back.

Nicole feels a smile pulling at her lips.

“Men At Work _is_ good taste in music.”

“Men At Work is frickin’ crap.”

Nicole bites down on her grin and grabs Waverly’s hand, the cassette case edge cutting into the soft part of her palm. “Okay. We can listen to Iron Maiden _and_ Men At Work. And then we’re listening to _Knee Deep in the Hoopla_.”

Waverly and Wynonna groan simultaneously, but Nicole ignores them both, pushing Wynonna towards the stairs, pulling Waverly behind her.

Wynonna stops at the door, pushing back against Nicole’s hand on her shoulder. She turns and leans against the doorjamb, picking at the end of her shirt. “Just a second,” she says to Waverly.

Waverly meets Nicole’s eyes and nods once, sitting down at the top of the stairs.

Wynonna finds a loose thread on her shirt and starts to pull, stretching the fabric. Nicole winces and reaches out, covering Wynonna’s hand with her own. Wynonna scoffs, ducking her head.

“You’ve been taking care of us this whole time, haven’t you?”

Nicole shrugs. “Cur- _He_ told me to.”

Wynonna nods, still looking down at her feet. “I haven’t been very nice to you.”

Nicole raps the back of her knuckles against Wynonna’s stomach, trying to get her attention. She waits until Wynonna looks up, her eyes dark and clouded. “You lost your uncle,” she says quietly.

“You lost him, too,” Wynonna says just as softly.

Nicole goes to shrug it off, to tell Wynonna that it’s not as important, but she catches Waverly’s eye and nods instead. “Yeah,” she breathes out.

Wynonna goes quiet, her mouth working as she grinds her back teeth together. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Nicole tips her head to the side, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“When I said you weren’t one of his girls. That-that last morning,” Wynonna explains. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Nicole whispers.

“We’re all his girls. Me and Waverly and you.” Wynonna’s eyes start to water. She scoffs and looks away, eyes roaming the walls before they settle on the large sunflower stretches from window to window. “We’re always going to be his girls, okay?”

Nicole nods, a lump in her throat.

“I promise,” Wynonna breathes out.

The burn behind Nicole’s eyes spikes and she hastily reaches up to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek. “Okay,” she agrees. “Me too.”

“But I’m still not listening to Men at Work,” Wynonna says, her voice still thick.

Waverly looks past Wynonna’s shoulder at Nicole and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t do that!” Wynonna shouts. “I saw you do that. You can’t gang up on me!”

Waverly ignores her and reaches for Nicole’s hand again. They argue the whole way down the stairs, but Nicole keeps her hand on Wynonna’s shoulder and Waverly doesn’t let go.

When they get downstairs and pile onto the couch, Wynonna slips _Powerslave_ into the tape deck by the color television. Nicole gets stuck under Waverly’s legs and Wynonna sticks an elbow in Nicole’s face.

There’s almost nowhere she’d rather be.  


-

Gus points at the chair already pulled out at the kitchen table. “Sit, girl. You’re going to be late for school at this rate.”

Nicole stifles a yawn, kicking the bottom rung of the chair across from her so it slides across the kitchen floor. Wynonna flops into it, her head dropping to the table with a _thunk_.

“This is what you girls get for staying up all night listening to those tapes of yours,” Gus scolds as she slides an egg out of a frying pan onto the plate in front of Nicole. She drops a piece of toast on Wynonna’s plate and slides a butter knife across the table.

“You don’t go to sleep in the middle of Donovan’s _What’s Bin Did and What’s Bin Hid_ cassette,” Wynonna says, her voice muffled. She lifts her head, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Gus pauses at the stove, leaning her hip against the appliance as she looks back at the table. Her eyes soften for a moment. “Curtis loved that tape.”

Wynonna’s throat bobs as she swallows and nods.

Gus looks at them for a second longer before she turns back to the stove top. She cracks an egg into a pan and adds a pat of butter. It hisses and spits as it settles. Gus pours a half cup of coffee and drops it down in front of Nicole.

“Hey, I want some,” Wynonna whines.

“Pour some,” Gus says, pulling out her own chair and sitting down on Nicole’s left side. “You know where the cups are.”

Wynonna grumbles under her breath, but gets up and shuffles to the coffee pot, pulling down a mug and pouring herself a cup.

Waverly skips into the kitchen, twisting the end of her hair around her finger. She smiles widely at Nicole, skips around to press a kiss to Gus’s cheek, and steals the coffee cup out of Wynonna’s hands.

“Hey!” Wynonna shouts.

“Eggs in the pan, baby girl,” Gus says to Waverly absently. She opens the ledger in front of her chair, thumbing through it. She pulls her glasses off of her shirt and puts them on, peering at a page she stops on.

Waverly flips her egg and pours Wynonna a new cup of coffee. She spins in a circle and reaches for the radio dial. She flips it on easily and it sputters to life in the middle of a note. “Oh, I love this song,” she sighs.

Stevie Nicks is singing “Gypsy”, Waverly is singing softly at the stove, Wynonna is half-asleep in her cup of coffee, Gus is nose-deep in her schedule book, and Nicole looks to the open seat the end of the table and wishes Curtis wasn’t missing all of this.

“I’m leaving for Ottawa right after you girls go to school,” Gus says, closing her book and leaning back in her chair. She folds her arms over her chest and looks at each one of them for a long moment, silently moving from Nicole to Waverly to Wynonna. “Nicole is in charge.”

Waverly claps excitedly. Wynonna groans and drops her head back down onto the table.

“I am?” Nicole asks, her voice tinted with awe. She shakes her head. “Why me?"

“Well, it would be Waverly, but Wynonna won’t listen to her like she’ll listen to you.”

“Hey,” Wynonna protests weakly.

“I’ll only be gone overnight,” Gus continues over Wynonna. “I want you girls to go to school, then come right home. You hear?”

“I have a shift at The Patch,” Waverly starts.

Gus waves a hand at her. “Joyce Arbor is going to take it. I already asked her. You can have her Sunday closing shift, when I’m back.”

Waverly thinks it over, chewing on a bite of egg, and nods decisively. “That’s fine with me.”

“I’ve got Bobo closing the place down tonight, and God forbid I don’t come back tomorrow to a diner in shambles.” Gus sighs. “If that knucklehead breaks even a broom bristle…” She huffs and swallows down the rest of her coffee. “Anyway, I want you three to be on your best behavior. School, home, and up in the morning to school again.”

“I was going to do stuff after school,” Wynonna tries.

Gus turns to look at her. “What kind of stuff? Stuff with that Holliday boy?”

Wynonna’s cheeks flush. “N-no.”

Gus hums and purses her lips. “You think you’re pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes, but I saw that cherry red bicycle of his leaning up against my porch the other night.”

“He didn’t come in,” Wynonna says. “He stood outside and talked to me through the window.”

Gus scoffs. “Like I’m going to believe that he-”

“He didn’t come inside,” Nicole says quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “I swear it.”

Gus narrows her eyes at Nicole, but eventually sighs. “Well, fine. But don’t think I won’t be asking that ol’ Bumblebear across the road to keep any eye out for you.”

Nicole and Waverly laugh, the way the do every time Gus calls Mrs. Sullivan the ‘bumblebear’. Nicole is never sure how that nickname started, but she knows it came from Curtis and it’s probably a funny story.

“I want to be like her when I’m older,” Wynonna sighs. “She’s, like, the most bitchin’ woman I have ever met.”

“Language,” Gus snaps.

“For real,” Wynonna continues. “She just sits in that rocking chair on her porch and watches people come and go.”

“Like that Holliday boy,” Gus cuts in. She checks the clock on the wall and sighs. “I’ve got to get my bag together and you girls need to get going, because I’m not calling you in late.” She points at Nicole. “You’ll make sure to ride over to the middle school and get Waverly at the end of the day?”

Nicole nods sharply. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I can ride to the high school all on my own, you know,” Waverly adds, ripping her piece of toast in half. She drops one half on her plate and passes the other to Nicole.

Gus crooks her finger at Waverly, motioning her forward. “Promise me you won’t let these two stay up all night watching that music television channel?”

“ _As if_ ,” Nicole scoffs under her breath.

Waverly nods solemnly. “I promise. Can I use the iron to put some patches on my jacket while you’re gone?”

Gus thinks about it for a minute. “Only if you make sure it’s off when you’re done. And you don’t let Wynonna use it.”

Wynonna doesn’t even protest this time. Waverly claps excitedly.

Gus points at Wynonna. “Do all your homework. And stop talking back to Ms. Daisy. She’s too nice for you to mouthin’ off to like that.”

“I’ll be nicer,” Wynonna grumbles around a mouthful of jelly and toast.

Gus rests a hand on Nicole’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “You keep them on track, you hear?”

The word ‘ _yes_ ’ sticks against the roof of Nicole’s mouth, like she ate too much peanut butter and forgot to pour a glass of water. For a moment, Gus’s hand feels heavier, rougher. Her voice goes deeper and her eyes change color. Nicole blinks, and Curtis is gone again, Gus standing tall in his place.

Nicole nods.

Gus squeezes her shoulder again. She leans up out of her seat and presses her lips to Nicole’s cheek. “Atta girl,” she whispers. She kisses Wynonna on the top of the head, gives Waverly a hug, and climbs the stairs with heavy feet.

Nicole grabs her backpack and pulls it over one shoulder, waiting in the kitchen doorway for Waverly to clear her plate and drop it into the sink. Nicole makes a mental note to make sure the dishes get done tonight so that Gus doesn’t come home to a full sink. Waverly drops her coffee mug in after the plate and brushes her hands off.

“Ready,” she says brightly, rocking up onto the toes of her sneakers.

Wynonna shoulders past her and out the screen door, letting it slam against the house. “Last one to school has to work dishes during Bobo’s shift!”

Nicole starts to sprint after her, clearing the steps in one jump and landing hard on the grass next to her bike.

Waverly laughs, light and pretty, and Nicole slows down, turning back and up the stairs. She grabs Waverly’s pink-tassled bike and carries it down to the sidewalk. Waverly hands Nicole a tape as she mounts her bike - Fleetwood Mac’s _Mirage_ cassette.

Waverly shrugs. “It feels like a Curtis day.”

Nicole grins widely, sliding out Bad Company’s _Desolation Angels_ and replacing it with _Mirage_. “A Curtis day,” she agrees. “I like the sound of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for sticking this one out. I hope you feel like it pays off.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I want you all to know: Smurf and I affectionately call this Single "Curtangst"


End file.
